


The Two of Them

by itsmoonpeaches



Series: Family Figures [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aang (Avatar)-centric, Air Nomads (Avatar), Airbending & Airbenders, Families of Choice, Family, Family Fluff, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Found Family, Gen, Gyatso (Avatar)-centric, Pre-100 Year War (Avatar TV), Pre-Avatar: The Last Airbender, Pre-Canon, baby aang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsmoonpeaches/pseuds/itsmoonpeaches
Summary: Pasang nodded to Gyatso. “You know what to look for, my friend,” he said, deep voice ringing in the enormous circular chamber. “Out of all of us, you are the one who knew the previous Avatar the best.”Gyatso bowed. “Of course,” he answered. “If I see signs of Avatar Roku in any of them, I will signal to you my suspicions.”-Or, Aang and Gyatso first meet. Gyatso wants to be the best guardian he can be.
Relationships: Aang & Gyatso (Avatar), Gyatso & Roku (Avatar)
Series: Family Figures [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017939
Comments: 36
Kudos: 108
Collections: Platonic Ship Fics of AtLA





	The Two of Them

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short, I wanted to write fluff. I also wanted family feelings. So I did it. ALSO, we need more Gyatso and Aang stories in this fandom. There are also some subtle references here to the Kyoshi novels.
> 
> If you've noticed, this is now part of a collection that I will continue here and there about family and found family dynamics. I keep coming up with these, so here we are. I decided to just put them together.

“Are you ready to administer the test, Monk Pasang?” asked Sister Kamala.

She was the Mother Superior of the Western Air Temple, and one of the youngest members of any of the four Council of Elders. She had achieved her rank at only fifty-three but had gained the respect of all the sisters that shared her council, even those who were older than her. By all accounts, she should have been of junior status among the High Nuns—middling rank at best. Nevertheless, her wisdom and her skills in airbending impressed even the staunchest followers of tradition.

All this, of course, was unconventional. But if there were any nation that defied norms, even ones that they made themselves, it was those of the Air Nomads. Gyatso had always been quite proud of this fact. Still, it made him more than a little frustrated that there were some instances where tradition was a must.

For example, there were hordes of waddling children waiting for them outside the closed-off room. Children that were waiting for them to come to a conclusion.

Babies were born in both the Eastern and Western Air Temples and stayed there until they were young toddlers at around the age of two or three. They were all raised together, being weaned off their birth mothers and cared for by all the nuns as they grew old enough to be either sent to the Northern or Southern Air Temples, or even to stay.

“Yes, the Southern Council is ready, Sister Kamala,” replied Pasang, sitting a little straighter on his silk cushion. The two lines that made up his dark brown facial hair swayed on his chin rather comically, and his single eyebrow arced high on his bald head.

“The Eastern Council is ready,” agreed Sister Iio. She had been admired for her youth because Iio never looked older than forty-five.

On the other hand, Monk Denpa had aged well past the advisable edible stage of bison cheese. Gyatso privately grimaced when he opened his mouth to reveal fully rotted teeth. “As is the Northern Council,” said Denpa, gums smacking together. 

This had not been the first time the elders had administered the test that was used to discover the Avatar. Normally, the test would be attended at each of the temples by their Council of Elders when they received the children meant to live there when they were ready to be brought up away from their birth parents. However, there was talk that some elders had seen a vision that the Avatar would be needed soon. That only expedited the proceedings.

In this accelerated process, only the Head Monks and Mother Superiors of their respective councils could attend. They had made an exception for Gyatso. It gave them solace that he was a council member regardless of rank.

Pasang nodded to Gyatso. “You know what to look for, my friend,” he said, deep voice ringing in the enormous circular chamber. “Out of all of us, you are the one who knew the previous Avatar the best.”

Gyatso bowed. “Of course,” he answered. “If I see signs of Avatar Roku in any of them, I will signal to you my suspicions.” 

They had already conducted the test in the Eastern Air Temple to no promising results. There was already electric anticipation in the winds that day. If the Avatar had not been present in the Eastern Temple, then there was only one other possible option…and there was only so much Gyatso could take.

He tried to center himself, standing straight on his end of the chamber, smoothing out the wrinkles in his fall-colored clothes. He took a deep breath, eyes trained on the entrance doors. Trepidation was ice in his veins, memories from the past seeping under his skin and evaporating into the clouds.

He could not forget his friend. He could not forget Roku.

The mahogany doors opened a crack, then the outside was in full view. A line of children and nuns crowded the hallways just beyond them. The sunlight dappled the worn cobbles, brightening the morning with white. The turning autumn leaves were copper and auburn, vines twining into the grooves in the walls. The young children were giggling at ridiculous faces caretakers made, and some were blinking wide-eyed at the sight they saw in the room. Excitement was a golden sheen of light, and they were glowing. 

The first nun led a little girl in. She was around the correct age range as all the young ones were. It had been two years since Avatar Roku died, and his reincarnation had to be among the children here. All of them were born within the two weeks since the last Avatar’s human spirit left the world.

The incredible spread of toys meant for revealing the Avatar was meticulously arranged on the tiled floor. There had to be thousands of all shapes and sizes. They were laid out on ten, extremely long lengths of faded yellow cloth. Evenly spaced, rows and columns of trinkets waiting to be played with.

Among them were bison whistles, painted marbles, a whalebone spring, and even balls of woolen yarn. Yet, there were only four Avatar relics out of all of them: the carved hog monkey, a wooden hand drum, a clay turtle, and a splintering whirligig. Each of them had a story, a history with a previous Avatar. Each were a hundred, if not hundreds of years old. They had an ancient feel to them, and when Gyatso had assisted in laying them out, each one emitted a spiritual energy he could not explain.

Monk Pasang raised his single brow, smiling gently at the girl who appeared apprehensive. She was being coaxed forward by her caretaker. “Please, choose four toys to play with, young one,” said Pasang. “Whichever ones you might enjoy.” He opened a palm, gesturing to the spread.

Gyatso supposed it could be a little overwhelming for a toddler of two. The girl, whose pigtails tangled against the yellow collar of her miniature acolyte robes, did not move until the nun had nudged her forward.

There was a stillness, trepidation. The sigh left immediately when she reached for a beech kendama that must have been from the Fire Nation or Earth Kingdom. She had taken three others from various other piles, but none of them were related. The nun looked to the Mother Superior of the Western Temple for affirmation, but when Kamala gave her a subtle shake of her head, she deflated. It was onto the next child.

The doors closed and opened with each participant; every piece of the ceremony kept a secret for fear of influencing the choices of others.

They sent in a squat little boy with a rather square head. Interest perked among them when he picked the hand drum first. He fiddled with it for a while, rotating it in his hands as if it were familiar. Sister Iio inched forward in her seat.

He procured the rattan Sipa ball next, and hope faded. By the time the boy was finished, they each had matching headaches from convincing him to switch the relic out for a misshapen stuffed lemur plush.

It was another failure after hours of sitting and waiting. Gyatso could see how the sun had risen past the peak of the sky, and late afternoon set in. There were only a handful of candidates left.

It was nearing supper when the last one came in. He was a sweet-looking child with a round face and large, silvery eyes. He was small for his age, which was difficult to note seeing how children this young tended to be such tiny ones regardless. But he was not unassuming. Tufts of dark brown hair on his head were swept back as he rushed inside. He had a presence, and Gyatso felt for the nun that ran after him.

“Spirits, Aang!” she shouted as she trailed into the chamber, bags under her eyes. “You shouldn’t scurry like that! Have patience!” She let out a huff and lifted her face to reveal an apologetic smile when she met the council members at the front.

However, Aang ignored her. He was sweeping around the room with wonder. He skipped from toy to toy without prompting, and it was only when Kamala suggested that he choose four that he began to comply with as much enthusiasm as his small body would allow. He was practically vibrating with it.

It was when this curious little boy stopped his searching in front of Gyatso and looked up at him in the eye that he knew there was something different. Aang tilted his head, squinting at him. The others must have sensed what he felt, because all of a sudden no one made a sound.

“Help p’ease,” said Aang as he tugged on Gyatso’s robes.

The nun gasped, sounding just a bit scandalized, but Gyatso did not mind. He found himself following Aang without question. It must have been the inflection in Aang’s tone, the way he had seemed to beg, the sparkle in his eyes. He had seen it before a long time ago. A lifetime ago. He wondered if this was what it was like to know that you cared for someone before you knew who they were.

Gyatso made no extraneous comments, intent on keeping the process as untouched and uninfluenced as possible. He hovered where Aang stood, was guided to place to place wherever he strode.

Aang bent over to pick up the clay turtle, rubbing the ceramic with his thumbs as he chose the next one. It was the hog monkey. He spent time twiddling with the curled tail. He had the greatest grin on his face, and Gyatso wanted to smother the silence that permeated the council with words because of it. The silence that meant that this could be the one.

Aang pulled the whirligig close to him, yanking the string as if he knew exactly what it did. He had not stopped to think about it. The spinning top came spiraling out and he raced after it until he caught it on a puff of airbending.

 _He is talented already,_ Gyatso noted to himself. It had to be another sign. 

And then, finally, it was the moment of truth.

Part of Gyatso wanted it to be over. He wanted—just as the world did—to know who the next Avatar would be. Yet this small boy was anything but the most powerful being on the planet. He was laughing, smiling, hopping with such innocent playfulness.

Gyatso had been good friends with Roku, even with their few years of age difference. He knew, as did the many companions to the Avatar, what that title did to a person. He closed his eyes for the second he saw Aang gravitate toward the hand drum, its Air Nomad swirl prominent on its face. He imagined this naïve child as he was now, happy to live his life as he was, and he pretended to not know what would come next.

When he opened his eyes, Aang was spinning the hand drum, its sound bouncing with each eager turn. He lifted his chin, looking to Gyatso as if in approval, and beamed. Gyatso patted him on the head, soft locks of hair weaving between his fingers.

Gyatso nodded to the nun, and the other council members followed suit.

This tiny, unknowing, fragile child was the spirit of peace and balance reborn. Aang was the Avatar, and Gyatso was determined to be his guardian.

-

The days came and went. Preparations had already started to take place for the choosing ceremonies where guardians from other temples would have their pick of children to raise for the rest of their lives. It was a mutual decision, however. There had to be a meeting in which the guardian and the child alike chose each other. There could be no other way, otherwise it would seem cruel to separate a family that wanted to be together.

The children were in the courtyard of the Western Air Temple. Monks and nuns from all four temples were there milling about. Flying lemurs leapt from the fountains, lingering on bushes and crumbling cliffsides. Gyatso was among them, albeit nervous. He had not chosen a child in years, and the fact that he had come at all raised a few eyebrows. The unique upside-down structure of the temple made the experience feel all the more surreal.

Aside from the Council of Elders and the nun that had brought Aang in, no one knew the identity of the newest incarnation of the Avatar. The other Air Nomads and the world only knew that they had been discovered. For another fourteen years at least, Aang would live the normal childhood he deserved.

Gyatso breathed in and out, surveying the crowd. Some people had been paired in no time, others left without a ward, and many more left with multiple. He teased at accepting the role of being in charge of the tutelage of a boy covered head to toe in grime, amused at the eccentricity of Jinju. But ultimately, he had made discreet movements toward Aang.

He noticed that Aang was popular among the other children, often coming up with endearing hand games and babbling noises that might have been songs. He was difficult to please, though. The monks that had attempted a relationship with him were wont to be turned away. Not because Aang was unfriendly, but because he was interested in anyone and anything but them.

Gyatso stepped around the sitting toddlers, and the guardian and child pairs embracing. He wanted this so badly that he felt it in his chest. He wanted it to be natural. He wanted Aang to love him as much as he already did.

In the end, it was Gyatso that approached Aang this time. He was saying something almost unintelligible to a plump child named Tashi, cheeks puffed out in concentration. Gyatso realized that he was trying to whistle.

He cleared his throat, crouching down to Aang’s level. “Push more air out of your lips,” he suggested. He demonstrated, puckering in what he determined was an unflattering face. “Like this.” A long, low whistle escaped.

Aang looked upon him with wonder. He screwed his eyes together, scrunching his nose. Nothing came out.

Gyatso tried to hold in his laughter. “No, young one,” he chuckled. “Less with your cheeks and more with your mouth.”

It took multiple tries and various types of missteps, but when Aang finally released a soft whistle it was one of the most joyful moments in Gyatso’s life. Tashi clapped and tried to do the same, and even tried to get Aang’s attention. But Aang only had eyes for Gyatso, and Gyatso for Aang.

The two of them stared at each other, and it was as if the world faded away into the background. Just a muted, colorless space beyond the vibrance of their smiles. He never had a biological child of his own, but Gyatso knew without a doubt that this was what it felt like to become a father. 

“My name is Gyatso, and I know yours to be Aang,” he said, words soft as a breeze. “Would you like to come with me, little one?” murmured Gyatso, heart beating in a rapid staccato. “Would you like to be a family?”

His pointer finger and thumb pinched the stem of a bright crimson leaf on the ground. He lifted it so that it was between them. It was a big as Aang’s hand. “You can be my little leaf in the wind,” he added.

Maybe at first there was hesitance, a slight pause in motion. It frightened him more than anything that he might not have this wonderful, beautiful possibility. This opportunity to be friends with someone he cared about again. A second chance, and a rare one at that.

Without another word, Aang took the leaf from Gyatso’s fingers. He was rosy with joy. “Go home?” he asked, tipping his head with an inquisitive expression, and Gyatso knew that to be that answer they both needed.

-

As much as he and Aang had fit together like the two halves of the white lotus gambit, Gyatso realized that it was harder than he thought to get Aang to trust him in the way that mattered.

He was always of the belief that children were far more complicated and far too intelligent than many adults realized. Aang liked him well enough and went to him for help for things like receiving his meals or reaching for knobs that were far taller than he was. It was the greater, more important things that Gyatso wished to be there for as well. He wanted to play games with him, assist him with all his antics, speak nonsense with him. He wanted to help Aang be a kid. So far, there was only so much Aang would allow him to do.

Aang would often hide behind pillars, peeking with his shimmering eyes at him as he read in his quarters, not saying a word. Gyatso knew he was there, and every tine he turned to him, Aang would duck away.

The child was shy in a fashion that baffled Gyatso, as if he were afraid of bothering him when he was busy. He remained open with everyone else, and especially with the peers that were his age around the Southern Air Temple.

Perhaps it was the change in scenery. It had only been three months since Gyatso had brought Aang with him from the Western Air Temple to the Southern Air Temple. As far as Aang knew, before he had moved that had been his home, his refuge. The women that had reared and weaned him were nowhere to be seen.

Gyatso did notice that Aang responded well to the air, as any airbender should. He would chase the breeze, see it ruffle through the trees and produce this never-ending peal of laughter that was music. He would blow gusts at the chimes, giggling at the twinkling sounds that they made. Even as a toddler, he was gifted. Gyatso saw that he would be a prodigy that came once a generation. This could have been because he was the Avatar, but there was something instinctive about the way he commanded their shared element. Something only a bird in flight could appreciate.

Knowing this, Gyatso sometimes used the air to his favor. The season was colder now, the winter creeping in. But there were still the pine needles leftover from the evergreens that dotted the sides of their temple’s mountain. If he was lucky, there were a few leaves peeking from plants that had begun to regrow through the snow.

Gyatso made the needles swirl, glide, dance. Sometimes, he would make them lead to him through the hallways. He made sure Aang never knew it was he who was tricking him into coming inside or spending time with him.

“Come, my leaf in the wind,” he would whisper to himself. “I am your friend.”

It was enough to see Aang’s absolute delight with every mischievous twirl of green. Still, he wished for more.

As Gyatso skimmed over the letters from his friends in Omashu at his writing desk one evening, he tried to think of how it was like for him to move from his birthplace in the Eastern Air Temple to where he was now. He was only met with fuzzy memories of a slobbering, licking bison and a nun cooing to him.

 _I heard you have a ward that you are quite fond of,_ he read. The scrawling, spindly writing of King Bodhi met him on paper. He could almost see the crooked grin his friend would be shining at him if they were speaking to each other in person. _I do hope that this child and my Bumi will get along. Boys of the same age should be friends, don’t you agree?_

Gyatso did, in fact, wholeheartedly agree. If only he could get Aang to really, truly, _trust_ him the way a son should his father. He rubbed his eyes, letting out a resigned breath.

It would take some time, he supposed. A lot of time and effort. If there was anything he learned from the last time he had a ward, it was that he needed patience in droves. That, and the willingness to accept the vacillating tendencies of a child.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a scream.

Gyatso shot up from his chair, toppling it onto the floor. He did not bother to make it upright. He knew right as it happened who had called out, for it was from the room next door.

“Aang!” he shouted, worry filling his every pore. He blasted open the door with air, not caring whether he had ripped the thing from its hinges.

A terrible storm rumbled against the windowpanes, shaking the tower. Aang was curled into himself and tangled in his cottony sheets. His delicate hands were clasped so tightly above his ears that they were pale with fear. His eyes were shut, and his tears were rivers that turned into tributaries. He was quivering by himself, and Gyatso hated himself at that moment for not noticing until then.

A corkscrew of lightning streaked across the night sky, engulfing the room in a brief flash of burning blue. Aang whimpered as soon as it happened. Gyatso ran to his side, collapsing next to him.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, stroking the side of Aang’s face. “It’s alright. It’s nothing to worry about. Just a storm.”

Aang did not respond and Gyatso grew more concerned. A shuddering explosion of thunder reverberated throughout, and impossibly Aang shrunk further into a ball. The candle at his bedside fluttered to life, the wick lighting of its own accord. The orange flame trembled to the same breaths as he did.

Gyatso dared to guess at the ironic glee that Roku would have if he were there, knowing full well that the Avatar’s first element besides his native one was the last one he was supposed to learn control over. Aang never noticed what he had done.

“Calm breaths,” Gyatso tried again. This time, he embraced the boy, tucking his head onto his chest. He was half on the floor and half on the mattress with Aang. His knees creaked with some discomfort, but it was hard for him to care. “My leaf in the wind, why are you scared?”

“Don’t like storm,” mumbled Aang into the fabric of Gyatso’s clothes. His high-pitched voice faltered. “G’atso...scary noise.”

“It is perfectly alright to not like them, of course,” supplied Gyatso, “but there is no reason to fear them.”

His clothes were soaked through, but he did not let it deter him from comforting Aang. “You and I are always going to be together, and so there is nothing to fear…not even all this racket. Not even lightning and thunder.”

Aang blinked up to him, eyes wet and overflowing. “Leaf?” he asked, “P’ease?”

Gyatso was not sure what he meant, and it must have shown on his face because Aang gave him a sheepish smile that both broke and mended his heart. His tiny hand slipped under his pillow and delivered the same red leaf that Gyatso had given him when they first decided that it would be the two of them. That they would be a family.

Children, it seemed, were a lot smarter than anyone gave them credit for.

Aang released the leaf, making a tornado in his hand without much effort, and it spun upward. He made a move to try and follow it, but he was enclosed in Gyatso’s arms. 

“P’ease, G’atso?” Aang requested a second time.

He kissed Aang on the head. “Anything for you, my leaf in the wind,” Gyatso joked.

Gyatso laughed as he guided the leaf in circles and odd patterns. Warmth spread through him. It was the same feeling he had when he had initially learned to air surf and he demonstrated it to Roku. It was the same feeling he had when he sipped on a cup of butter tea on a frigid day, and the heat settled in his middle and welcomed him to the hearth.

It seemed that Aang had been paying attention to him after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope that went well! Please leave some feedback and/or kudos down below!
> 
> Some notes:
> 
> \- Sipa is a game kind of like hacky sack that originates from the Philippines. It can be played with a rattan ball and there's many different versions of it.  
> \- Kendama is a wooden ball toy with many sides that kind of look like cups. It's like the Japanese version of cup-and-ball.


End file.
